Ombretta
by Ashni
Summary: The last chapter of my last fanfic IS UP! Thanks go out to all of you who took the time to read and review a story that didn't focus on the characters we all known and love from Alias. I expected few reviews but you guys proved me wrong. :-)
1. Familiar Face: Synopsis

A/N:  I finally got inspired for the Kesi Story!  lol!  In any case, as soon as my beta reader has a chance to look over the first part and send it back to me, I'll post.

This is the requested sequel to my trilogy, "Familiar Face."  I realize this won't be a big review magnet, as it focuses on a character I made up for the trilogy.  But for any new readers, here's a synopsis of Familiar Face.

**Mosemotsane:** http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=525720

_Sydney woke up instantly, feeling her limbs scream in protest as she twisted her head to look at her surroundings. Stark white walls stood guard around her stiff bed, and when she tried to move, she discovered that she was chained securely in place.  
  
She moaned in pain and turned on her side as far as her chains would allow, trying to remember how she had gotten to this place. The single door stared at her menacingly, holding no answers. To her frustration, the last thing that she remembered was getting off the plane—_

_  
The screech of the door gave her little warning before someone came into the room. "I see you are awake." Ana Espinosa stood before her, dangling a key from her fingertips. Sydney felt a raging urge to slap the smug look off her nemesis' face, and suddenly the memories all came flooding back. . ._

Sloane sends Sydney to Pennsylvania to retrieve another Rambaldi journal that's just been discovered.  She will meet up with Olim Idlabmar, the man in possession of the journal, at his home, and an exchange will take place.  However, unbeknownst to SD-6, K-Directorate has received the same intel and has a team waiting.  They capture Sydney and give her two options: go through with the planned meeting and return the journal to them, not SD-6, in return for her life, or refuse and be killed.  She agrees to get the journal for them.

She meets with Idlabmar as planned and he leads her into the forest, where he has buried the journal as a safeguard against robbery.  K-Directorate men surround them.  As Idlabmar hands her the box containing the journal, shots ring out and he falls to the ground, dead.  Sydney takes off into the trees.

A CIA helicopter circles closer and closer to her position as she finds that she has no option but to fight K-Directorate.  Desperately outnumbered, she holds them off for a time but eventually begins to weaken.  Vaughn and Weiss watch from the helicopter as her death seems imminent.

Suddenly half of the K-Directorate men take off in the opposite direction, in pursuit of—what?  With a last burst of energy, Sydney escapes into the forest again.  She runs into another woman creeping around the bushes.  As the other woman turns around, she's shocked to see a mirror image of herself.  Her doppelganger tells her to escape and they part ways, Sydney still bewildered.

She reaches the helicopter and climbs up to Vaughn and safety, leaving Pennsylvania behind, but she's left a mystery behind as well…..

*      *      *

**Mysteria:** http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=531726

There are things better left unknown. _Was Vaughn right? She hesitated, and it was in that hesitation that she heard it. A whisper of sound, easily dismissed if her nerves hadn't been so jumpy. But they were, and she froze, holding her breath.  
  
A slight change of shadow upon shadow told her that a figure crouched at the door. A faint footstep told her that he-or she-had entered the room. Sydney guessed that she hadn't been seen: she heard no cry of shock, no anxious retreat into the hallway. She set the folders down silently beside her. She turned, balancing on the balls of her feet, and peered around the edge of the desk.  
  
"You!" she gasped, then cursed herself for the outburst. The figure spun around to look at her. She found herself face-to-face with a gun, looking at her own face, her own eyes.  
  
Her doppelganger took a step back, letting her gun fall to her side. She snarled softly. "Sydney," she breathed. Suddenly her eyes took on a wild, raging glint. "You're working against him!" She raised the gun again.  
  
Sydney cried out and stumbled behind the desk as a shot rang out. The glass behind her shattered. A waterfall of shards cascaded down on her. She heard the guards shout out and they came running. Desperate, she grabbed the files and threw herself through the jagged opening in the glass, shielding her face with her arms. The hot sting of blood bit her cheek.  
  
When she finally staggered outside, the CIA team pulled her into the car. The tires screeched as they shot down the street. Sydney clutched the files to her chest. Her face was cut and bruised, and tears rose in her eyes that had nothing to do with the pain._

Vaughn agrees to investigate the mysterious woman, but warns Sydney that it could mean compromising her double-agent status.  She explains that she couldn't live with this mystery hanging over her head.

At a later meeting, Vaughn reports to Sydney that Devlin wants her absent while this investigation is performed, for her own safety.  Angry, she finally consents to spend two weeks in Tahoe.

Sydney drives up to Tahoe and relaxes on the couch when Francie calls.  Her friend is indignant: she says she saw Sydney at a diner an hour ago!  Sydney explains it away and hangs up, shocked at the realization that her doppelganger is now in Los Angeles.  She calls Vaughn, confused.  He tells her that they've just discovered the woman was sent by SD-6.  So why doesn't Sloane know about Sydney's helicopter escape by the CIA?

Sydney wants to break into Sloane's office to view the files on the Pennsylvania mission and hopefully find out who the woman is, but Vaughn protests.  Sydney pleads with him and he finally tells her to start driving back now.  He'll tell Jack Bristow to deactivate the security around Sloane's office.

Late that night, she successfully gets the files, but as she's leaving, her doppelganger enters the room!  They stare and then, to Sydney's shock, the other woman opens fire on her.  She escapes and reaches a meeting room where Vaughn and Weiss are waiting.  They split the papers among themselves and tentatively start reading.

In Sydney's papers is the following letter:

_Great work in Cairo. Hassan delivered the arms Tuesday morning. Find out what you can about Williams. I want a report by next week…Laura gave birth yesterday, you'll be happy to hear. Just as the doctor said, they were twin girls.  
  
As agreed, Laura will live with you and together you will raise Sydney. Kesi stays with me. I'm expecting to be invited to the wedding. Remember, Jack. At eighteen, Sydney once again becomes mine._

_  
Sincerely, Arvin_

Horrified, Sydney leaves the room and runs into Jack Bristow.  She speaks angrily to him and finally tells him that she has no father.  Then she walks out, feeling betrayed.

*      *      *

**Agraciana:** http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=585073

_"Are you crazy?" Jack grabbed her arm, jerking her back harshly to face him. "I know you're angry--I even understand why, dammit--but if you refuse to work with me, Sloane will know you've seen those files. And when that happens," he said in a softer voice, letting go and stepping back, "Your life will be worth less than nothing to him."  
  
"You don't know that," Sydney countered. "And why should you? He's done more to protect my life than you ever have."  
  
Jack recoiled as if she had slapped him. The unmasked shock in his face was enough to make Sydney momentarily sorry that she had gone so far. He lied to me, now he has to accept the consequences. The thought reinforced her wavering resolve and she straightened unconsciously, looking him coolly in the eye.  
  
He took a deep breath. "Sydney--"  
  
"I'm doing this alone." With that, she turned on her heel and left. Jack watched her go, the distant, stalwart man of a few moments ago nowhere to be seen. Long after she had disappeared from sight he stayed there, but she did not come back._

A security guard informs Sloane about the break-in of the night before.  He also tells him that the thief looked like Sydney.  Sloane begins to think up a test mission to see if it was, indeed, Sydney.

Meanwhile, back at her house, Sydney finally settles down to get some sleep on the living room couch.  A scratching sound wakes her up.  She cautiously goes to her room and sees that Kesi has broken in.  A fight ensues and Sydney realizes just how enraged her twin sister is.  She runs outside and flees in her car, Kesi in close pursuit.  After a car chase, Sydney reaches a roadblock and throws herself out of the car as Kesi slams into it.  Kesi runs from the scene.

Coming back to the SD-6 office the next day, Sydney explains away her cuts and bruises by saying that she was involved in an accident as she drove up to Tahoe and came back.  Sloane seems suspicious, but doesn't press it.  Instead, he gives her a mission assignment: K-Directorate has taken over a laboratory in England that has a complete map of SD-6.  Sydney feels sick as she realizes this could be a clever ruse to kill her quietly.

Sloane informs her that Dixon will not be her partner for this mission.  She protests that she can't break into a surrounded building by herself, but he assures her she will not be alone.  Going with her are Jack Bristow and….Kesi.

Later, Sydney details the mission on a paper bag and throws it into the trash can.  As she stands up she sees Jack there.  She tells him that she refuses to work with him and, incredulous, he exclaims that that will only prove to Sloane that she's seen the file on Kesi.  Sydney maintains that she'll carry this out alone.

Vaughn gives her her counter mission and cautions her to be careful.  They both wonder if she'll make it back to Los Angeles, but she has no choice but to go to England.  Meanwhile, Kesi plots to kill her…..

*      *      *

Expect the first update late tonight or tomorrow!  Meanwhile, take the chance to check out the other stories.  ;-)  -Ashni


	2. Part 1: Picture Frame

**OMBRETTA  
**_by Nicole_

**A/N:** Since this is tied in to my series, "Familiar Face," I'm sticking with the girl names….Ombretta means "shadow" (from the Italian word "ombra").  I understand this won't attract too many reviews since it's not about the characters we all know and love, but I'm viewing it more as an exercise to get into the mind of the twisted sister I created for Sydney.**  
Feedback / E-Mail: **nicole@lafetra.com**  
Disclaimer:** I don't own "Alias" or any of the characters in it, which, although it makes me sad, is a good thing because I would completely screw it up.**  
Classification / Genre:  **Action/Adventure**  
Summary: ** In "Familiar Face," Sydney's sister turned from being her ally to her worst enemy.  But what's Kesi's story, anyhow?**  
Rating: **PG (violence)**  
Special Thanks: **To everyone who wanted to see the back story behind this twisted character I created, and especially to Jenai, who is a great beta-reader!

Part 1: Picture Frame

I don't remember hate.  I don't even remember jealousy, really.  I wasn't jealous of my sister, I was proud of her.  I'd anticipated our meeting with the bitterness of waiting and the sweetness of surprise.  I'd imagined how our eyes would meet.  Hers would widen as she was faced with a living mirror.  I, having studied her to the point of perfect imitation, would of course remain poised and calm.  Then we would embrace as Father looked on and saw how hard I'd worked to come to this moment.  I'd finally be allowed into her life.

And now I'm out to kill her.  Kill Sydney Bristow.  It's the only thing on my mind.

It's still strange to me to think that this ideal sister I'd constructed is nothing more than a dream: a whisper of thoughts here, a smattering of wishes there.  Somehow the man she dares to call "Father" twisted her until I cannot believe she is of my own flesh and blood.  But the worst part, the final knife driven into my body, is knowing that my father sees none of it.  He sees the perfect agent he always saw.  The perfect agent he always wanted me to be.

How would he react, I wonder, to know of her betrayal?

My attention snaps back to the present as I see Sydney's vague outline disappear into the underground passages that will allow her access to the English laboratory: my cue to leave my position.  Dirt falls from my fingertips as I rise and run silently through the trees.

I pause as I reach the crest of a hill about two hundred meters away from the building.  Tiny K-Directorate guards patrol the grounds, their shadows warped into monsters that pulse and bob with every step.  I don't even have to go through with this plan to lead them away.  All I have to do is reveal Sydney's presence in the laboratory and K-Directorate will do the job for me.

No.  I want to kill her myself.

The K-Directorate guard I have my eye on reaches the corner and turns on his heel, marching back the way he came.  Immediately I leave my place by the trees and dart down the hill, raising leaves and dust in my wake.

The guard's cries shatter the fragile night air.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him skid to a stop and raise his gun to his shoulder.  A succession of three shots causes me to duck instinctively and veer away, into the forest again.  The guard shouts and I look back briefly to see him gesticulating in my direction.  K-Directorate men spill out of the laboratory to pursue me.

Without the guns, without the boots, without the uniforms and without the barked Russian that drifts faintly to my ears, we could almost pass for a group of kids taking advantage of the English forest to stir up a rowdy game of tag.  It used to be my favorite game.  Maybe that's what makes me so good at what I do.  I've never gotten caught.  Not in missions, not in training, not as a child.

Except for once.  When I found out about Sydney.

Father was chasing me through the house on one of his rare vacations home.  "Home" was always changing; we kept moving to ensure my safety, although I didn't know it at the time.  I don't remember any of the houses, really.  I just remember the nanny who always followed me, who took care of me for the months that Father was away, who always had a look of terror in her eyes, who suddenly disappeared when I turned eighteen.  I never asked why.

I couldn't have been more than five at the time.  I dashed through the rooms with the tireless energy of a child as Father followed me.  I never realized until later that our games of "tag" were different than those of other children.  "Chase" did not mean running at half-speed behind me, pretending to struggle as I squealed.  "Chase" meant hiding, sneaking, pouncing at the most unlikely moments.  Not so different from the training I would eventually undergo.  Most children would have found the intensity of our games overwhelming.

I loved them.

I do remember one part of that house: an old oak table, carved with leaves along the edge.  It was just high enough that I could stand up on tippy-toes and see whatever was on top.  That day I turned to look at the familiar picture resting there of my mother and me.  Her arms were wrapped around me and we both grinned at the camera.

But I'd never met my mother.  Entranced, I reached for the picture frame to get a better look.  Even at five, I could feel that the discovery of this me-who-was-not-me held some great power over my life.

Strong arms grabbed me by the waist and tossed me lightly in the air.  I shrieked in delight, but my arm swept back, knocking the picture frame from the table.  It landed with a startlingly loud crash on the tiled floor.

Father set me down gently and I ran to the broken picture frame, ignoring the glass shards beneath my shoes.  Ever so carefully I released the picture from its multihued prison of glass and laid it on a clean tile.  I tilted my head to look at my father.

"Who is she?" I asked.

I could tell he was about to say "You, of course," but something in my tone made him stop.  Something made him decide to tell me.

"Kesi," he said quietly and proceeded to explain that my mother had gone to live with a man named Jack Bristow to raise my sister, Sydney.  I listened, hardly believing this could be the truth.  But I knew my father wouldn't lie.  And my life took on a new dimension.

I clench my teeth to control a yelp as a slender tree branch strikes my cheek, leaving fiery pain behind.  I've been lost in memories again and that unsettles me.  I've never had any trouble before focusing on the task ahead of me.  Father always praised my single-mindedness that allowed me to ignore any emotion that hindered the clean execution of my training missions.  I tell myself that this is a big step for me, deciding to kill my own sister.  That's why I can't get her out of my thoughts.  Once she's dead, everything will return to normal.

_to be continued…._


	3. Part 2: Stars and Tears

**OMBRETTA  
**_by Nicole_

**A/N:** Since this is tied in to my series, "Familiar Face," I'm sticking with the girl names….Ombretta means "shadow" (from the Italian word "ombra"). I understand this won't attract too many reviews since it's not about the characters we all know and love, but I'm viewing it more as an exercise to get into the mind of the twisted sister I created for Sydney.**  
Feedback / E-Mail: **nicole@lafetra.com**  
Disclaimer:** I don't own "Alias" or any of the characters in it, which, although it makes me sad, is a good thing because I would completely screw it up.**  
Classification / Genre: **Action/Adventure**  
Summary: ** In "Familiar Face," Sydney's sister turned from being her ally to her worst enemy. But what's Kesi's story, anyhow?**  
Rating: **PG-13 (violence)**  
Special Thanks: **To everyone who wanted to see the back story behind this twisted character I created, and especially to Amanda and Jenai, who miraculously saved this chapter!

Part 2: Stars and Tears

I don't remember resenting her.  My training revolved around Sydney, my very identity revolved around Sydney, but I didn't resent her.  I was something she could never be.  I was myself, yes, but I was also her.  I could infiltrate her life and pass myself off as her with no one the wiser.  Her happiness, her friends, her world: finally they were mine as well.

Or so I repeated to myself over and over again, through the long nights when my father was away.  Perhaps I actually believed it.

But something else drove me on.  "Sydney was chosen because she matched a profile," Father had told me.  "You have been chosen because you match Sydney."  The tiny hope began to rise that someday, Sydney would be chosen because she matched me.

*      *      *

They've lost my trail.  I smirk as I watch the Russian soldiers stumbling around in the darkness.  I check to make sure they're in no position to find their way out before doubling back through the trees.  I have my own agenda to follow.

The deserted laboratory seems too convenient.  Hidden behind a bush, I scan the grounds before me.  No one appears, I don't even notice a shift in light, but my suspicions refuse to rest.  No K-Directorate guard would run off into the forest without leaving someone to watch his post.  There has to be someone hidden.

What if he sent someone else to help me?  At first it seems an unlikely possibility, but as the minutes creep by and building remains silent and still, I realize the idea is not all that crazy.  I fooled K-Directorate once, in Pennsylvania on my first mission; surely Father couldn't have believed I would be nearly as effective the second time.  Besides, I've already come to the conclusion that he sent me as a test, a final opportunity to prove myself more loyal than she.  And if I'm right, only one correct solution presents itself: to kill Sydney.

So maybe that's what this is all about.  Maybe someone else was sent to take out the guards so that I could kill her unhindered.  Now confident, I slide out from the cover of the bush and use the night as cover as I make my way down the slight slope to the laboratory.  Sydney should be close to the end of the tunnels by now.  Well, I'll be waiting.  By the time I get back to the communications station, there will be no reason for Jack to suspect that I'm responsible for the death of his darling Sydney, and even if he does, I can take care of him.  His death would be harder to explain, but not impossible.

I hesitate as I step into the light, ready to bolt at a gunshot.  Nothing.  Keeping my back to the wall, I pad softly to the corner.  The silence remains and I relax slightly.

Suddenly a dark shape springs at me from behind the wall.  I have no time to think before my reflexes take control.  I step to one side and pivot smoothly, driving him to the wall with a well-placed kick.  I slam my elbow into his face.  The sharp snap of bone breaking is quickly lost in the clatter as his gun hits the ground.  Enraged by the pain, he charges at me.

As I prepare myself to meet his attack, a faint glint catches my eye.  I barely restrain a curse.  Then he's on me and I'm twisting violently to avoid his knife while struggling to lock my hands on his neck.  More than once I feel the steel kiss against my skin as we fight for control.  He grabs my arm and twists it cruelly behind my back.  My tears flow freely as I spin out of his grip and sidestep out of the way.

By luck he trips on a stone.  I waste no time in smashing his knife to the ground with one booted foot, nearly slipping on the soft fingers.  My other boot on his throat stifles his scream.  His eyes widen and he begins to claw at my leg frantically, but I just shift my weight and watch dispassionately as his struggles weaken.  Finally he goes limp, all resistance gone.

I've never killed a man before.

Slowly, I remove my foot from his throat, ready for a renewed attack.  He does not move, and I wipe the bloody knife on his shirt and stow it in my pocket.  Then I lean closer.  From his jacket spills a cascade of wallet-sized photographs.  Despite my reservations, I find myself drawn in by the desire to know who this man was whom I killed, the desire once again to escape into a life not my own.

The first photograph is of a little girl with pigtails.  The contaminated light makes it impossible to tell what color hair she has, but even if I had been in broad daylight I doubt I could've shaken the image of another girl, with fine brown hair and lively brown eyes, that came over me.  A girl who looked like me, but wasn't.  A girl whom Father saw when he looked in my direction, whom I could never be.

I can still picture in my mind the only time I ever saw him excited.  My nanny and I were staying in Los Angeles for once, under assumed names.  Father ordered us both to stay in the hotel, for fear someone would see me and start asking unwelcome questions.  We both obeyed without protest.

My nanny was reading to me when Father burst into the room.  His cheeks were tinged red and he was smiling broadly.  I leapt off the bed and ran to him, overjoyed at the unexpected visit.  He swung me up into his arms before setting me down at the tiny counter.

I waited patiently as he grabbed a piece of paper from his jacket and set it down in front of me.  I examined it with all the seriousness my seven-year-old self could manage.  At the top was a box of circles, ranging from tiny specks to disks the size of a button.  Along the bottom was another box of circles in a different pattern, as well as the words Left, Right, Top, Bottom, and Back.

"This is the same group of stars," my father explained to me eagerly, "Just rotated.  Now which way was this—" he pointed to the top stars, "—rotated to get this?"  He pointed to the bottom.

I stared at the page blankly, feeling his excitement slowly drain away as the silence stretched interminably.  I tried to visualize the stars turning, but the image wouldn't stay in my mind.  Finally, I turned to him and shrugged helplessly.

"I don't know."

He replaced the page with another one, and then that with yet another, but I could only reply "I don't know" each time.  Soon, understanding this strange test became unimportant next to redeeming myself in my father's eyes.

"I don't know!"

At my outburst, Father set the pages down and turned towards me.  I couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't understand why I had failed.  "I don't understand," he said softly, mirroring my thought.  "Sydney can see it with such ease."  The thud of the door closing echoed in my ears and when I looked back up, he was gone.  I quietly took the stars to my room.

Nights would find me desperately searching for answers among the papers Father had left behind.  While my nanny slept in the corner, I spent hours sitting on the toilet seat in a dark bathroom, my knees drawn up to my chest, holding a flashlight in one small hand.  I always woke up the next morning sprawled on my hotel bed with the pages of stars stacked neatly on the side table.  My flashlight flickered weakly and within three days the batteries had died.

When we left Los Angeles, I hid the stars in a tiny opening in my suitcase where I had cut the fabric away from the bottom.  I kept the folded papers in my pockets for weeks afterward, until finally the self-hatred overwhelmed me and I flung them into the fire.  My nanny held me as we watched the flames consume my failure.

It had been two years since I first heard the name "Sydney Bristow," but I hadn't found out anything more about her in that time.  Now I found myself faced with more questions.  Who was this girl, who could draw meanings out of paper stars?  Who was she, who could make my father so happy?  But to me, the most important question was the most perplexing of all.

Why wasn't I her?

Suddenly furious with the renewed emotions of that time and my own foolish innocence, I rip up the photograph of the pig-tailed girl and throw the pieces into the bushes.  Barely remembering to pick up his gun, I stumble away from the dead man and run into the laboratory as the tears threaten to fall. 

_to be continued…_


	4. Part 3: Decision

**OMBRETTA  
**_by Nicole_

**Author's Note: **Since this is tied in to my series, "Familiar Face," I'm sticking with the girl names….Ombretta means "shadow" (from the Italian word "ombra").  I understand this won't attract too many reviews since it's not about the characters we all know and love, but I'm viewing it more as an exercise to get into the mind of the twisted sister I created for Sydney.**  
Feedback / E-Mail: **AshniPerpetua@go.com

**Distribution:**  Allowed and appreciated, just let me know where, please!**  
Disclaimer:** I don't own "Alias" or any of the characters in it, which, although it makes me sad, is a good thing because I would completely screw it up.**  
Classification:  **Action/Adventure**  
Summary: ** In "Familiar Face," Sydney's sister turned from being her ally to her worst enemy.  But what's Kesi's story, anyhow?**  
Rating: ** PG-13 (violence, death)**  
Special Note: **As I've told some of you, I will no longer be writing fanfiction.  However, contrary to my original decision, I have decided to finish Ombretta.  This chapter is not beta-read, not edited, and likely poorly-written as a result, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.  :-)  I will be posting some original pieces as I finish them (I have one up at the moment).

Part 3: Decision

I remember the day I decided to kill her.  After the Pennsylvania mission, I crept into Father's office to see what I could find on her.  Seeing her fight K-Directorate, knowing she felt there was no hope left and yet still pushed herself to her limits, watching the helicopter drift away and pretending I could see her dangling, I knew why Father loved her.  Because now, I loved her, too.

I should have known better than to let myself love her.  She was one fucking lie; I should have seen that!  But instead, desperate to believe that there was a reason Father loved her more than he loved me, I blinded myself.

He had warned me against ever coming to Los Angeles, but I followed her anyway.  The guards at SD-6 were easy enough to get by, and I became shadows as easily as I had become her.  I slipped through the offices, finding Father's as easily as if I'd lived there all my life, and crouched in the doorway as a security guard swept his flashlight by lazily.  When I entered the office, I was surprised at how easily the door opened.  It hadn't been locked, and this put me on my guard.

I looked around the room, not noticing anything at first.  Then I saw the faint shadow that didn't quite blend in with that of the desk.  I crawled forward carefully, nothing in my manner indicating that I knew I was not alone.

I wondered if I should lock the door.  But even as I turned back to look at it, I heard a familiar voice—similar to my own, in fact—cry out "You!" and I whirled around, raising my gun instantly.  Seeing those eyes again, that face, startled me.  I let my gun fall to my side again.

My lips twisted in confusion.  What was she doing here?  I could only whisper "Sydney," over and over again.  In the next instant, I took in her wild eyes, the files clutched in her hands.

"You're working against him!"  The shout ripped from my throat before I could stop it, so horrified was I.  I barely thought.  I brought the gun up and aimed, trembling.  She dodged the first shot, so that it hit the glass.  Briefly I took in the beauty of the shards as they rained down on the desk, then I focused on eliminating her, this traitor, this beast.

Maybe I didn't want to kill her.  My shots went wide, and I saw a security guard fall, screaming, as a bullet grazed his cheek.  I saw her run.  Knowing I could never catch up, knowing I was quickly being encircled, I fled.  I could not even take pleasure in the guards' shock as suddenly I was gone.

I wandered down to a pier, lit by the bright joviality of a Ferris wheel across the water.  My mind flew apart, as if caught in a black tornado.  I stared into the ocean beneath my feet, willing it to wash me away to a world empty of these lies.  I despised being able to be anyone other than myself, and I despised her for making me feel this way.

Hours later, I donned a familiar face—hers, with all its betrayal and chill—and took to the streets in a car carelessly left to the night.  My world had crumbled around me, and I had only one truth left.  One obligation.

To kill my sister.

Perhaps, with her death, I could buy back my father.

How I found her house, I will never know.  How I looked through the streets and decided, yes, this was it, this was hers, this is her, remains a mystery to me.  But I chose correctly, as the pictures in her room attested.  I did not know what I was searching for, but the pictures entranced me.  I looked through them silently, until I saw one photograph of my sister smiling next to the man who had stolen my mother away and killed her.  I began to shake.

I can't explain why seeing Sydney's innocence tore at me so much, or whether the emotions raging through me were of guilt of anger.  All I knew, in that moment, was that she would pay.  A gunshot through the heart was too good for her.  I wanted her to suffer as she had made others suffer.  Justice.

No.  This was not justice.  Justice would bring my mother back.  Justice would make my father happy.  Justice would eliminate Jack Bristow from this earth.  Justice was not here.

In one violent motion, I slammed the picture frame onto the floor.  The glass skidded out across the wood floor and lay there, twinkling at me in the milky moonlight.  The picture frame had broken neatly in half; the photograph itself was hardly bent.  Furious, I snatched it up, heedless of the glass imbedding itself in me fingertips.  In my hands the photograph was reduced to shredded paper.

Let Sydney's life shatter as I had shattered this picture frame.  All it took was one push and what had once been clear and solid shattered into a thousand irretrievable shards.  No one had made that push yet, but I  would show her who was the stronger here.  It was time for my sister to see me for what I was.

Dangerous.  Driven.  Determined.

Sydney would fear me.

But fear was not what was in her eyes when she looked in the room and whispered "Kesi Sloane" in my voice.  A bright flash of light exploded in my face, and it was then that I realized I had thrown myself at her.  I felt my leg hit something heavy and my arms twisted behind my back.

"What are you doing in my apartment?  What the hell are you doing?"

That falsely-demure voice sliced through my pain like a razor.  I wanted to choke, to scream, to cry.  _To kill._  Her grip had lessened slightly on my arm and I tensed, ready to free myself.  "I'm just taking back my life," I grunted.  It should have warned her, but I spun and kicked her away with ease.

The gun at my side came easily to hand and I aimed it at where she had been.  She was no longer there.

"You're insane!" she gasped, and I saw she stood in the doorway.

"Better than being a bitch," I cried.  "Better than being a traitorous, disloyal bitch of a daughter."

The coward fled, and I pursued.  The rest of that night is a blur to me.  I tracked her through the streets, cornered her with a vague emotion resembling glee, and finally rammed my stolen car into her truck.  She'd survived, I knew.  But I walked away, saving the fight for another day.  Why didn't I walk around her overturned car and finish her off?  I could have, easily.  The fall had likely knocked her unconscious.

I didn't kill her that day because I still believed in right.  Executing this traitor, it was right.  Killing my sister and ending this horrible mistake of my father's was right.  Shooting a downed woman who had no chance of fighting back….no, that was not right.  So I ran.

I had wanted to believe that my mom had died for a reason.  That she had gone away, left my dad, abandoned one of her daughters, for a damn good reason.  Looking into my sister's fearful eyes, I knew there was none.  No reason could justify what she'd done to me.

_to be continued…._


	5. Part 4: All She Was

**OMBRETTA  
**_by Nicole_**  
Feedback / E-Mail: **AshniPerpetua@go.com

**Distribution:**  Allowed and appreciated, just let me know where, please!**  
Disclaimer:** I don't own "Alias" or any of the characters in it, which, although it makes me sad, is a good thing because I would completely screw it up.**  
Classification:  **Action/Adventure**  
Summary: ** In "Familiar Face," Sydney's sister turned from being her ally to her worst enemy.  But what's Kesi's story, anyhow?**  
Rating:  **PG-13 (violence)**  
Special Note: ** The final (yet again betaless and yet again editless) chapter in this world I've created around Sydney's fictional sister, and the final chapter of fanfic for me.  :-)  Thanks so much to all of you who have read and reviewed….I've appreciated it so much and I hope you've enjoyed the ride!

Part 4: All She Was

I taunt and dodge the guards automatically, my feet flying over the tiled floor from instinct rather than conscious tactics.  I navigate the rooms and halls and think only of her.  _Why?_ I beg her in my mind.  _Why did you have to ruin all of this?_

I lead two guards into a room, shielding myself in one dark corner.  As they stare at each other and begin to curse loudly in Russian, with many angry gestures with their guns, I imagine it is her there and slit their throats before they can even cry out.  I drag the bloody corpses into a corner and slip out of the room.

_"Kesi?"_

_Her father called her into a private room of his Pennsylvania office and checked the locks carefully.  She watched without interest, accustomed to secrecy._

_"You've worked with SD-6 for a little while now.  But I'm afraid I haven't been completely honest with you."_

_"Nothing I'm not used to," she replied without rancor._

_He smiled slightly.  "You've always been more suited to this life than Sydney."_

_"What did you have to tell me?"_

_"SD-6 is not affiliated with the CIA."  He'd told her who she really worked for.  But she hadn't cared.  She was more suited to this life than Sydney.  She was better than Sydney, for this one moment.  And when he asked her about her loyalty, she'd told him "Yes" and never regretted it._

I run through the laboratory in search of my sister, leaving bodies behind.  My knife grows lighter and lighter in my gloved hand, until I barely notice its presence.  I hunt her, drawn by a force even I cannot begin to describe.

As I run, I imagine telling the news to my father.  "She was a traitor," I'd say.  Even he would be impressed with the lack of emotion in my voice.  No sympathy for traitors.  Not even—especially—when there was a bond of blood there.  _Don't think about that.  Just find the room: 401, 403, 405…not on this side.  402, storage closet, 404.  The map should be here.  And Sydney as well._  I take a deep breath and slide into the room.

_The satisfaction had not lasted long: her father had not hesitated in telling her how much quicker Sydney learned this or that.  Perhaps he believed the competition would be good for her; perhaps he did it completely unknowing.  Either way, he still loved Sydney more._

_There had been days when the hopelessness was just too unbearable; days when she sauntered into the city with a mask on her face and lie in her eyes, pretending she was Sydney.  Pretending she was loved.  She'd stroll through the streets, surrounded by people, seeing no one, chatting up friends who vanished in the wind and dining with an invisible father who smiled.  Each time she altered herself the tiniest bit, to try to be more like the perfection that was her sister._

_After a while she stopped trying.  Light through a warped mirror could never be anything but flawed._

I stop behind her, barely breathing.  Then, hardly knowing why, I replace my knife in my vest and take up a slab of wood that has come apart from the wall.  A flood of reluctance rushes through me suddenly.  This is my sister.  _My sister._  I am killing my family.

No!  I am killing my family if I carry out this justice, but I am killing others if I do not.  Father, the agents whose lives she will destroy; agents who are more my family than she, if only for the fact that we both fight on the same side!

Without allowing myself to hesitate any longer, I slam the wood into her head and catch her in my arms, telling myself it is not a gesture of tenderness.  "I've been waiting for this opportunity, sister," I say sadly.

_She had seen Jack Bristow only through the photographs her father carried.  The merciless eyes, the cold face, they only heightened her resolve and her hate.  Her sister, too, she watched grow up through frozen smiles and silent laughter._

_If her father had known how she skillfully raided his pockets and briefcase on every one of his rare visits, he would have been proud; but the fact that he didn't know was the source of her own pride._

_She had never dared to steal one of the precious photographs.  There were limits she would not cross.  She never grew tired of staring at this Kesi-who-was-not, of dreaming.  Oh, how she dreamed…_

I fold the map and stuff it into my vest pocket before dragging her into the storage closet.  I take out my gun and rest it on my knee while I check her carefully.  No lasting damage; if only I didn't have to kill her.  I sigh with regret as I tie her wrists.

Her eyelids flutter open and I jump back, ashamed of my weakness.  She tries to raise her bound hands to her face, but stops as she sees the gun.  The hands fall limply to her lap.

"Kesi.  Where are we?" she asks, fear and sadness warring on her face.

"Quiet," I warn.  "We're in the storage closet, and if you speak too loudly, there are two K‑Directorate guards standing in the room next to us."  I'd seen them enter through the slats in the closet door and I couldn't bear to think of what they'd do to her—to us—should they find us here.  At least I'd grant her a quick death.

We banter questions.  Her "father" is far away; he can't save her now.  I'm not trying to stall for time before killing her.  I'm not.

"I've never done anything against you," Sydney says suddenly, catching my attention.  "Why are you doing this?"

My horror must show on my face, because her eyes narrow.  Damn it.  She's using me.

"Because you had everything." I tell her the truth bitterly.  "Because you grew up happy, perfect, loved—and I grew up in your shadow.  He didn't even tell you about me, did he?"  I flinch at the brokenness in my tone and touch the trigger, ready to kill her even as she tells me "No."

I switch my focus to the door as the sounds of a scuffle outside reach us.  They are muffled quickly.

_I cannot do this._  I nearly cry out with the pain of fighting against the path of mercy.  I keep my gun trained on her through nothing more than intense training.  Kesi the assassin and Kesi the sister war with each other, and I fear the battle may tear me apart.  How can betray either sister or father?  I plead with whatever higher power there may be to kill me, rather than force me to carry out this execution.

My wish is granted.  I am so absorbed in this rage within me that it takes me some time to notice the blood spreading across my chest.  I watch it in wonder and gratitude, feeling no pain.  Who has done this kindness?  I look up at the lit doorway and nearly sob.

Jack Bristow.  My enemy.  My savior.

My legs buckle under me and I fall to the ground at Sydney's feet.  She and Bristow exchange words over my head as my eyes fill with tears.  I am spared this horrible choice.

I hold onto life with trembling fingers.  I want to tell Sydney something….I want her to realize….

"It takes…more than blood to make…a father…"  I struggle to utter the words.

She turns back to me with obvious reluctance.  "What?" she asks.   She does not understand.

"He's not…your father…." I try to explain, needing her to know how lucky she is to have a father to love her.  Jack Bristow is more her father than Arvin Sloane ever was mine.

I realize something then, something I have known all along, perhaps.  It shocks me and saddens me, so that I cannot hear the words as Sydney's mouth moves one last time.  I hope no one would ever know, but at the same time, I wish with all my soul that she could, somehow.

I realize I still love her.  And with that, I let go.

_Ombretta.  Just a girl of shadow.  As fragile as a nighttime ghost and as easily dispelled.  Few to see her and no one to remember.  Just a memory, fading already from the minds of those she had loved and hated.  A shadow._

_That's all she was._

The End.


End file.
